


Unfrogettable

by Cattywh0mpus



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, First fanfiction other than like one time in middle school please have mercy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reader is an artist, Reader is chub, Romance, Title is a stupid pun because I can’t name anything to save my life, don’t know what i’m doing, eventual smut maybe??, reader is a big nerd, so much stupid fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattywh0mpus/pseuds/Cattywh0mpus
Summary: HumanReader/Jamack ficWritten in the form of little moments throughout their relationship.It’s been about 3 months now since you stumbled out of your pod and into this strange new world. At first it was confusing, terrifying, and more than a little... gruesome at times.But after you meet him, things get a little less lonely.And maybe, eventually.. this will all feel worth it.
Relationships: Jamack/OC, Jamack/Reader
Comments: 37
Kudos: 96





	1. Wandering

Click

Click

Click

You stare up at the water damaged ceiling. Frowning.

Click

Click

Exhaling deeply, you roll over and try to reposition yourself more comfortably on your bed of shitty tarps and leaf litter.

You’re totally going to have ticks in the morning.

_ CLICK _

but honestly ticks are the least of your problems right now.

Right now, your biggest problem is  _ sleep _ .

It’s been about 3 months now since you stumbled out of your pod and into this strange new world. At first it was confusing, terrifying, and more than a little... gruesome at times. 

It took you about 6 weeks for the tears to dry up, and the shakes to subside. 

But who could blame you? The world as you knew it was gone. All of it.

And sure, you were never exactly plentiful in the friend and family department, and you certainly weren’t attached to the people you were frozen with,

but to wake up only to find them so... soft and... swollen and.. grey..

You shake the image from your mind. Nuh uh. Definitely not going to help you sleep.

It’s hard enough to survive in a post apocalyptic environment, let alone when you’re.. well, alone. Even if you were kind of a loner to begin with.

You don’t know what you have until it’s gone, etc etc, so on and so forth.

But you like to think you’ve adapted about as well as could be expected. 

I mean, you’re still alive right?

Click 

Click

You slap your hands over your tired eyes in frustration.

That fucking clicking in your head.

It used to be worse. Which you suppose is a good sign?

When you first shuffled out of the bunker, your whole body was pain.

Your joints were filled with broken glass and your blood was liquid fire. 

..Or, that’s how it felt, anyways.

Nowadays, it’s mostly just headaches and the occasional _(but still FAR too frequent for your liking)_ clicking in your ears.

  
  


Click

Click

Click

You groan and turn your heavy head towards a nearby shattered window, covered in plastic. 

It glows slightly with the first hints of daylight.

Might as well get up. No way you’re getting to sleep like this.

Your body creaks in protest as you rise and prepare yourself for the surely terrible day ahead.

Whatever. 

Maybe you’ll catch some early morning wildlife to add to your collection.

* * *

You take it back.

Today is _awesome_.

You peer back over the parapet, down at the large hulking creature below.

It’s slow, and seems to be some kind of herbivore or omnivore, judging by it’s prolonged chomping on the surrounding foliage.

Good. You are sick of carnivores, man..

It’s about the size of a car, and if you had to compare it to anything, you’d say it was an armadillo.. but more armored, and with a couple extra pairs of heavy legs.

You glance back at your sketchbook to gauge your progress. So far, it’s pretty accurate, but you still need to flesh out the hindquarters.

You crane your head over the roof’s edge to try and get a better look, but the beast is partially obscured by an old rusted out Volkswagen. 

“Come’ ooonnn just.... show me your butt...” you grumble.

To your surprise, the creature lazily raises it’s head to meet your gaze, and you freeze.

You hold your breath as you peer down into it’s fierce yellow eyes...

And then... it turns around. 

Oh. Okay.

It gives you one last long look before resuming it’s grazing.

...You swear it was judging you.

..Sorry, she. 

The better angle reveals the beast before you to be female.. By the look of it anyway. 

She finds some kind of large insect and grumbles happily as it’s innards run down her sloppy maw. 

She’s beautiful. 

And definitely an omnivore.

you love her.

You start rough sketching the legs, humming in satisfaction as you go, and thinking up a name for this new discovery. You can’t help the stupid grin on your face.

Everything else may be gone, or changed, but you’ll always have your passion for wildlife and drawing. 

In that way at least, it’s.. quite a time to be alive.

You take a small sip from your canteen and peer back over at the beast.

Quite a time, indeed.

Suddenly, the creature whips it’s head in the opposite direction with surprising speed, startling you. 

It’s body has gone entirely still, with the exception of it’s long ears, which are rotating to and fro, listening for something. You find yourself following suit, nervously listening for anything unusual over the everyday ambience of the outdoors.

Quiet.....

quiet.....

..huh.

You think you hear something in the direction the beast is looking in. Something is making it’s way from the east.  
You immediately begin to pack your things back into your bag, as quietly and quickly as you can, all while keeping your eyes glued to the foliage in the direction of the sound.

The beast below you grunts and snorts aggressively, turning itself fully towards the oncoming potential threat. 

You marvel at this behavior for only a moment, before a distant fearful wail rings out, startling the birds from the treetops. 

Your stomach drops.

You can feel it now. 

The earth shakes with the force of thunderous footfalls.

You barely have time to duck behind the parapet before a massive predator bursts forth out of the foliage and into the clearing with a loud snarl. You lay as flat as you’re able. 

You can hear the sounds of a scuffle, a yelp, snorting, grunting, a squeal. A loud thump shakes the building, dislodging part of the parapet and surrounding roof, sending the rubble crashing below. You clap your hands over your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the involuntary scream.

The sounds of the brawl continue, and you manage to build up the courage to peer around the broken edge and down at the chaos below you.

Oh no.

You can see your herbivore subject pawing at the dirt threateningly, crimson splattered across it’s features.

And in front of it, there is what appears to be some kind of big four eyed.. bear? 

You feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of a new creature to add to your collection, but it is quickly replaced by pure, unadulterated FEAR. 

Like, fear of the PANTS SHITTING VARIETY.

You practically vibrate with adrenaline as you watch the scene unfold, frozen to the spot.

The bear thing is slightly smaller than the herbivore, but even bulkier and armed with massive claws and fangs. It charges towards the herbivore, and the herbivore charges back. Unfortunately, the bear gets the upper hand and manages to sink it’s fangs into the back of it’s opponent’s neck. 

The herbivore let’s out an ear piercing squeal, that sends a shiver down your spine and before you even realize what the fuck you’re doing, you’re on your feet and running towards the fire escape.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, nearly deafening. Almost enough to drown out the panicked squealing. You reach the bottom of the fire escape and dash to the end of the alley.

You turn the corner and prepare to go left, running for your life down the street.. but then you make a terrible mistake.

You look right.

There, no more than 30 feet away is the gorgeous creature from earlier. It’s thrashing wildly now in a last ditch effort to survive. It’s thick, flailing legs make contact with the side of the building and you’re showered with a cloud of dust and debris. 

In all the commotion, it turns it’s head to you... and makes eye contact.

And just like that, something takes over you. 

The fear melts away and is replaced by outrage.

Next thing you know, you’re screaming at a predator 4 times your size, swiping at it with a rusted pipe, eyes hot and burning with tears of rage. You barely register someone calling out, yelling something somewhere behind you. You feel something wet and warm. The smell of copper is all around you, overpowering your senses.

You see red.

And then black.

* * *

Click

Click

Click

You groan. Not this shit again.

Your head is pounding.

You reach up to rub the sleep from your face.

Click

Click

Tap

That sound isn’t coming from inside your head. 

It’s in the room with you..

You crack open your bleary eyes and try to take in your surroundings.

Walls. Big walls. Metal. Beams. Boarded Windows. Barrels. A giant rusty fan. A giant door. Greenery spilling inhere and there.

Some kind of old warehouse, by the looks of it.

Your hands grope around at the space to your sides and feel rough fabric which does little to pad against the texture of industrial plastic shipping palettes. You’re on some kind of makeshift bed.

How’d you get here? The last thing you remember..

  
  


Tap

You struggle a little to roll your aching head towards the sound.

Your vision is blurry and you strain to see clearer. You glance at the floor and see movement.

Something black and reflective is bouncing idly up and down.

Tap 

tap

It clicks softly every time it connects with the concrete flooring.

You squeeze your eyes shut a few times and your vision starts to clear. 

The shape is... shoes? Shiny black shoes.

_ Wait. _

You follow the blurry black shape upwards with your eyes and try to focus.

Legs... a torso..

Your blood runs cold.

You snap into an upright position so fast, your head spins... a lot.

You wobble comically and flop back down on your side in an awkward position.

You hear a sigh and the sound of someone getting up from their creaky seat.

You whip your head around and come face to face with the stranger before you.

Your eyes go wide. You stare flabbergasted at the...man? Before you.

His skin is green. Like... really green. Positively verdant.

His eyes are huge and bulging, his mouth is impossibly wide, and his head..?

..Size of a fuckin’ **planet**.

Honestly, he’d be the spitting image of a big frog, if not for the snazzy _(albeit a little worse for wear)_ black suit he was wearing. Jacket, tie, dress pants, shoes, the whole ensemble.

“..What _HAPPENED_ to you?”

The words come out with more excitement in your tone than you intended.

His eyes narrow at you and you immediately curse yourself.  
You open your mouth to try and save face but he cuts you off.

“Oh, what happened to _me?_ ”

His expression changes to that of a derisive grin that makes you instantly uncomfortable.

He chuckles dryly. “Glad you asked.”

Then in a flash, he’s in a fit of rage, pointing his finger accusingly in your face, while the other hand stays clenched in a fist at his side.

“ _YOU_ happened to me!!” He practically snarls.

You recoil, shrinking into your shoulders.

“If you have some kind of death wish, don’t involve me! I mean, what is _WITH_ you humans, anyways?! It’s like none of you have any sense of.. basic.. self preservation!”

You follow his hands with your eyes as he waves them about for emphasis.

“Would explain a lot, I guess!” He gestures to the dilapidated surroundings.

“Although honestly, the fact that you managed to be the dominant pack at _any_ point in time _whatsoever_ is a mystery to me!”

You open your mouth to mumble something and he snaps back at you.

“ **What!?** ”

You hesitate before repeating yourself, a little louder this time.

“I don’t know you..”

He stares at you confused and clearly aggravated.

“Yeah, and It should have stayed that way! Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

You speak up again, a little more confidently.  
“No I mean... I don’t know you. You said I involved you but I.. I don’t remember ever asking you for your help..?”

His entire aggressive posture deflates. 

He stares at you for a moment, wide eyed and a slight tint of color dusts his cheeks.

“I-...” he clears his throat, regaining some of his composure in the process. 

“So you’re saying I should have just left you where I found you, then? Great, good to know, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The room feels like it’s swaying. You reach up to hold your head, only to wince when you find tender bruised flesh.

You feel a cool hand on yours, pulling it away from from your face firmly but softly.

“Hey. Don’t touch it.”

He pulls his hand away and like a switch has been flipped, you’re suddenly aware of the pain. Here and there, all around your body. A sore spot on your hip, a sharp pain in your ribs, something sticky and dried to your scalp, matting the hair down.

Your eyes squeeze shut while you try to remember.

The armadillo. Something else showed up while you were drawing her. Something.... meaner. 

It was chasing... something smaller. But then it ran into your subject and.. There was a fight, you ran. 

You.. ran?

No. You...

You open your eyes to find the green man staring at you, expression unreadable.

“..You saved me?”

He stiffens and corrects his posture.

“No.” He pauses to adjust his unusually short tie.

“I obligated you. You should learn the difference.”  
  


* * *

“I never even got your name.”

He just keeps walking ahead, hands in his pockets. Doesn’t even stop to look at you.

“Jamack.”

“..Jamack?”

“That’s what I said.”

You’ve never heard the name Jamack before. But you suppose previous naming conventions have changed since your time.

“That’s an interesting name.. is it French?”

He pauses to kick at an abandoned duffel bag full of something before deciding it’s probably nothing good.

“Huh? Oh. Maybe. How should I know?”

You chuckle.

“That’s kinda funny... a French frog.. I guess it’s true what they say! You are what you eat~”

He stops walking, but still doesn’t turn to look at you, seemingly more interested in something on the horizon.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s a stereotype, but.. French people in my time were known to eat frogs. It’s a delicacy or something I guess.” You shrug.

He’s still facing away from you, but he’s gone completely still. There’s suddenly a palpable tension in the air.

“....Humans _eat.._..”

You cut him off to elaborate.

“Well, specifically the hind legs. They ate frog legs.”

He spins around on his heel and you finally see his face. 

His expression is intensely serious, but you can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“Bullshit. You’re... just trying to mess with me.”

You shake your head “no, no, it’s true! Humans were top of the food chain back then, remember? Not to mention omnivores. As a species, we ate pretty much anything.”

He nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other and takes his hands out of his pockets. A bead of sweat runs down his face as he clears his throat.

“Did you....ever...”

You can see where this is going. You finish his thought.

“What, have I ever eaten frog?”

He grimaces and nods.

You open your mouth to answer... but then you hesitate.

The fact is, while you didn’t really “eat frog” per se, you had... tried it at a restaurant once. Maybe twice? But would that just freak him out unnecessarily?

Unfortunately, your hesitation was already doing just that.

The longer you took to answer, the more concerned he became, and the further he seemed to be subconsciously shifting into a defensive stance.

Finally, you decide honesty is the best policy.

“Well..... if it makes you feel better, I wasn’t that big of a fan?”

His face twists in shock and disgust as you continue.

“I know it’s a cliche but it really did taste like chicken...Oh, But uh.. not as good as chicken. It was stringier and kind of dry?”

He has slowly become bent over, hands on his knees, face pale.

“But that could be because of how it was cooked. I think it was like... fried. I’m not entirely sur-“

“ENOUGH! STOP! JUST...STOP TALKING! FOREVER.”

He spins around once more and goes right back to walking briskly ahead of you, only this time.. he is careful to maintain a farther lead..

* * *

It’s been a week and a half now with with the strange froggy man, and as of now, he is still the only really sentient being you’ve come across.

The obvious question has been burning through your skull since the moment you met, but you’ve been a little scared of the answer..

However, at this moment, eating some kind of giant purple fruit around your little makeshift fire, you feel ready to rip off the band-aid, so to speak.

“..How many more are there?”

He pauses to swallow a mouthful of some pillbug-like creature he found earlier and roasted on a stick.

“How many what? Fruit? I think there’s more on th-“

“No, I mean people.”

“Like...humans?”

You tilt your head quizzically. “I guess? like... do you have family somewhere? Friends?”

He let’s out a sardonic laugh as he lowers his meal.

“Are you serious? This whole time, you thought..”

He shakes his head and chuckles again. 

“What part of me looks human to you?”

You balk at him, crossing your arms.

“Like....50% of you, honestly. Are you.. really not human at all..?  
I mean, I _know_ you’re a frog. Or at least you have some kind of obvious... frog related... mutation...?  But you had to have been human at some point.”

He takes another bite of his food with a hearty crunch and mumbles his response with his mouth full.

“Yer crazhy.. uhn seriahsly cuhnfoozed humun..”

“You have a moustache, for crying out loud! Frogs don’t grow hair!” You point accusingly to his upper lip and he lightly backhands your finger away from his face.

“Neither do I! It’s just a marking that males get when they come of age.. Look, I already told you I’m not human, just let me eat in peace.”

You lean towards him and squint. In the light of the campfire, you can see that it does in fact reflect off of smooth skin, and not the hairy textured surface a real moustache would have. 

How did you not notice that before..?

He crosses his legs and switches his attention back to his meal, picking some of the burned bits off the top.

You scrunch up your nose in thought, merely observing him for a moment.

And then you reach out so casually, he doesn’t even notice until his hand is being pulled towards you.

He swallows and nearly chokes.

“Wha-“ he hacks a few times. “-are you doing?

You turn his hand, palm facing you, and place your slightly smaller hand in his, splaying out your fingers to align with his own.

A blush settles on his features and he tries to gently pull his hand away 

“H-hey..”

“See?” You interrupt. “They are the same. These are human hands! Well.. other than the unusual skin tone...and a lack of fingernails. But other than that, it’s a human hand, no question.”

You release his hand and roughly grab him by the leg instead.

He teeters in his seat, arms waving at his sides to keep from falling backwards.

“Hey! Th-“

You cut him off again, more excitedly this time. 

“Look at the musculature! This is a PLANTIGRADE human leg, you walk UPRIGHT! Sure, some animals can raise themselves up on their haunches, maybe walk upright for a moment. Then there’s birds which walk on two legs... but you walk truly upright. That’s almost completely unique to humans. And I’ve _definitely_ never heard of a _FROG_ doing it.”

Your hand drifts down his leg from his ankle to his thigh as you explain.

“And look at where your biceps femoris meets your gluteus Maximus! like a human rump, It’s _much_ more pronounced th-“

“HEY!”

you’re startled out of your weird rant by his sudden outburst.

He’s laying entirely on his back over the log now, with his leg being held almost completely vertically. One of your hands grips his ankle, while the other is dangerously close to his..

_You drop his leg like a hot fucking potato_.

He wobbles awkwardly as he tries to regain his former balance, before finally settling back into a safe sitting position.

You don’t know what came over you. 

..Okay, that’s a lie. 

You’re very familiar with what came over you.

“I’m.. sorry.”

And then to your surprise, he chuckles.

A super blatantly uncomfortable chuckle that makes you cringe a little, but you suppose it’s better than getting screamed at.

He pats himself down and wipes the dust off his pants.

“Okay, I get it.. The lines between the species are a little more blurred than they used to be.. But I’m not a human. Never was. Even if I remind you of one.”

You sit back down in your seat awkwardly.

“... I didn’t really ask for humans specifically. You said humans, not me.. I just wanted to know if there are any other people. Besides us.”

Jamack goes silent.

He seems to be deep in thought, eyes glued to the crackling flames of the fire.

You shift in your seat, about to break the uncomfortable silence, when he speaks up again.

“Probably not as many as before, but.. yeah. There’s others. Tons. Whole packs of them. Just.. not many you can trust. Sorry to disappoint.”

There’s something there, hidden between the lines, you can feel it.

Some tension. A sadness he’s trying not to draw attention to.

You decide you’ve pried enough for one night.

“Well.. that’s alright. Sounds like not much has changed, honestly. Besides.. two’s company enough.”

Jamack says nothing, just finishes off the last bite of his bug and adds the stick to the fire.

You both fall into an amicable silence until the flames die out.

* * *

The sun rises.

Afternoon comes.

And still you wait for him.

You’ve been staked out in a nearby abandoned bookstore since yesterday. And now you’re just hanging around, pensively doodling in your sketchbook until he gives you some kind of signal.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t even specify what the signal was going to be.  
Probably assumes you’ll just know it when you see it.

You push the ratty curtains to the side and lay forward with your head against the remains of the cool glass window, watching the ocean waves beyond the quaint restaurant’s exterior.

You try to recall the details of yesterday’s conversation.  
  


~~~

_“It’ll be eaaasyy. In and out. I used to do this kind of thing all the time, you know. The key is stealth.”_

_Jamack adjusts his lapels with a sort of boastful flair._

_You roll your eyes at him “I don’t know, Jamack. This seems like an awful lot of risk for... brunch.”_

_He makes an indignant grunt that you can’t help but find comical._

_“Look, no offense, but I’ve been roaming the wilderness with you like some kind of savage for weeks now, and if I go one more night eating roasted bugs and berries, I’m going to...!”_

_He pauses in thought_

_“...well, I don’t know. But let’s not try to find out.”_

_You sigh and put your hands on your hips. There’s no point reasoning with him when he’s like this._

_“Fine. Let’s just get it over with then.”_

_You begin to walk towards the ocean restaurant when Jamack stops you with his arm outstretched._

_“Woooah now. You can’t go. Just me.”_

_“What? Why not?”_

_“trust me on this. It’s not a safe place for humans.”_

_“So then what? I wait here while you go stuff your face? Are you kidding me?”_

_“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. But no. Believe it or not, I was considering bringing some back for you.. Idiot.”_

_“Oh.. well.. go on, then.”_

_“Well, I guess since I have your permission..” he grumbles sarcastically._

_He turns to walk off before seemingly remembering something._

_“Oh, right. And uh... if I don’t come back in an hour, I’ve probably been captured and you should NOT come near the restaurant under any circumstances.”_

_“CAPTURED? Aren’t you just ordering some food?!”_

_“Don’t worry about it, like I said, I’ve done this kind of thing before. I’m sure I won’t get caught by a bunch of.. prawn pawns.” he chuckles as if the notion is laughable. “...But if I do, just wait here and keep watch for my signal. You know. Just in case.”_

_You lower your face into your palm. “Good lord... just...go if you’re going.”_

_ “Alright. See you in an hour.” He gives a lazy wave as he walks away . _

~~~

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.

You hate to admit it but... you’re honestly _worried fucking sick_.

And that fact only seems to make you... angry?

You put your sketchbook back into your bag, completely giving up on making anything good.

You stare out at the restaurant down the hill, now in full swing, seemingly at the height of it’s business day. About 20 minutes ago, you noticed some strange costumed characters approach the establishment and now there seems to be some kind of party or event going on. 

You swear to god, if Jamack just ditched you to party....

Wait. Suddenly there’s a commotion down below.

The distant din of cheering and laughter has suddenly turned into jeers and sounds of distress. 

You strain to listen..

Definitely some kind of argument going on.  


The sounds of unrest continue for about 10 minutes and oooooooh now there’s MASSIVE two headed pink birds of some kind descending on the restaurant _yeah ok that’s it_....

You hurry to lace up your boots.

Enough waiting.

By the time you get down the hill, the place is chaos. Screaming, people everywhere, discarded food and dishes. Monsterous two headed flamingo-like birds fly overhead, swiping at the crowd.

You hear a familiar voice and try to shove through the mass of panicked mutes.

There! You spot Jamack kneeling on the brick floor, holding his head.

Above him, one of the aforementioned monster flamingos, mounted by some kind of rider, is poised to strike.

You yell out to him and he immediately comes to his senses, looking in the direction of your voice.

He looks surprised?

Relieved..?

Oh

Never mind..

He’s definitely pissed.

Jamack only glares at you for a second however, before he leaps and rolls away from the monster bird’s fierce kick. 

The moment he comes to a halt, he whips around to you, shoots out his tongue, and suddenly you’re whizzing through the air at breakneck speed, landing with a heavy thump against his torso that nearly topples him.

oogh.. Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t eaten yet..

He holds you by the shoulders and makes an aggravated growl as he scans the crowd for any other incoming threats.

“Did being frozen for 200 years damage your brain?!” He barks, wasting no time in jumping down your throat.

“It must have because that’s the _ONLY_ explanation for why you would forget the _ONE_ thing I told you _**NOT TO DO UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.**_ ” His voice is guttural and full of rage.

Normally this would discourage you, but after a full night of waiting for him, worried sick, all it does is add fuel to your own fire.

“Oh _EXCUSE ME_ ” you bark back, catching him seemingly by surprise.

“What happened to Mr. stealth master, huh?! What happened to ‘easy in and out’?!Wow, my Brain damage must be contagious, who knew!”

He gapes at you, about to respond, when a scream pierces the air nearby. You both jerk your heads in the direction of the sound, to see a pink haired girl being knocked off the top of an airborn flamingo, and falling towards the ocean waves. 

Jamack shoves you to the side.

“SHIT I’ll explain later!”

He launches his tongue towards the flamingo, wrapping around it’s neck before propelling himself into the air like a slingshot.

He collides with the falling girl halfway. They tumble in the air a bit, clinging to one another, as he retracts his tongue, only to launch it again, this time at a railing to your right. 

His tongue connects, but the rusty railing gives, just as some kind of horrifying lovecraftian sea beast parts the waves and opens it’s maw to receive them. 

You lurch forward, grabbing his tongue before it has a chance to retract out of reach, just as two pairs of arms quickly wrap around your middle.

You can’t even bother to care, nor identify your fellow rescuers, as you’re too busy being pumped full of panic and adrenaline. 

For a second it looks like they’ll clear the beast, but then it lunges upwards, managing to snap it’s maw around the girl and  _ half _ of Jamack.

Jamack makes a high pitched yelp of pain, as his left leg and arm, supposedly still gripping on to the strange girl within the beast, are gnawed between the folds of it’s grotesque mouth.

You put all your weight backwards, pulling as hard as you can along with your mystery aides, as the monster thrashes to and fro, bashing you all against the surrounding architecture. 

Finally, it opens it’s mouth with a weak gurgle, and you can see that the girl inside had clawed up it’s innards with her prominent mutated paws.

Freed from it’s grip, The tension of Jamack’s outstretched tongue rockets them back towards you, all of you landing in a painful pile.

You shove yourself upright almost immediately and shimmy over to Jamack, inspecting him. 

Everything seems relatively fine at first, until you notice his shoulder and mid thigh both sport a shiny wetness where something has soaked through. You gingerly touch the spot on his thigh, and he hisses. Candy red coats your fingertips and your breath catches in your throat.

A panicked female voice calls out and someone kneels quickly beside you. 

“Jamack! Oh nonono...he’s going to be okay.. He’s going to be okay, right?!”

It’s the girl from before. She seems completely fine, minus her current distress.

A smaller child wearing some kind of pelt places a hand on her shoulder.

“We need to move him. Treat his wounds.”

She looks to you with a serious look. “Who are you?”

Her tone is low and there’s a hint of a threat underneath. You gape at her and try to respond, but Jamack groans and takes it upon himself to answer for you.

“A....real pain in my a-“ he’s overtaken by a small coughing fit. 

A boy to your right speaks up with a fearful quiver. “Guuyyys.. incoming!”

Another flamingo lands with a heavy thud behind you.

The intimidating child from before immediately leaps into action, but the pink haired girl turns to you first.

“Please.. take care of him!” And with that, she leaps into the fray, claws outstretched.

The boy leans down by your head and points you to some double doors some yards away. 

“Take him in there and hold up! We’ll find you after!” He runs off after some bug who seems to be more focused on picking discarded food off upturned tables.

Jamack props himself up with a pained grunt and you try to shimmy your shoulder under his uninjured arm. However, it quickly becomes apparent that he is both far too heavy, and far too injured for this method.

An idea strikes you.

“Jamack. Wrap your tongue around my chest and hold on tight.”

He dithers “wha-... uh are you-“

“Just do it!” You snap impatiently.

He begrudgingly obeys, coiling the thick muscle over one shoulder, across your breasts and under the other arm as tightly as he’s able.

You turn your back to him and with some effort, get your hands under his thighs and pull him up onto your back.

He grips around your shoulder with his good arm and says something in what you interpret is an incredulous tone, but his tongue being in the position that it is, you can’t understand a word of it. 

You focus on making the arduous journey to the double doors, walking as quickly as possible on shaky legs.

Finally, you make it past the threshold and collapse to your knees, flopping him sideways to the ground as gently as possible.

“ _ **AUGH-!!**_ ”

..which isn’t very.

You pat his chest in silent apology as you catch your breath.

He looks up at you with an almost guilty look on his face.

“...Sorry.”

You turn your head to look him in the eyes.

“It’s...fine.... just glad....you’re okay...scared me..” You pant.

He nervously breaks the eye contact, looking past you at the ceiling instead.

“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea..”

You pause. “.....whu?.......”

He turns his head away from you with an uncomfortable look on his face.

“....I don’t know much about mammals but... the enlarged chest is like... a  thing for you guys, right? I uh.... apologize.”

You stare at him completely dumbfounded.

A giggle bubbles up from your throat..

Then it’s full blown laughter. 

Your bruised sides ache, but you can’t stop.

Jamack’s face reddens, with embarrassment or vexation is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, okay! Last time I apologize to you!”

You hold your sides as the laughter dies down.

“Dude.. is that seriously all you have to say? After that...that _absolute_ _ clusterfuck _ ?”

Jamack seems to misunderstand the source of your shocked disbelief.

“Okay! Fine! I.. also thank you. For... saving me back there.. or whatever.”

You give him the biggest shit eating grin he’s ever seen on your face and reply,

“I didn’t save you. I obligated you... Thought you knew the difference.”

He looks positively astounded.

Now it’s his turn to laugh, but it’s quickly cut off with a wince of pain.

Your grin drops. “You alright?”

He chuckles again, more restrained this time.

“Yeah yeah, uh... any chance you could obligate me a little further..?”

He nudges your leg with his.

“Oh. Right.” You smile. “Anytime.”

You reach down and start to carefully roll up his left pantleg to assess his wound.


	2. The Theotters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments and conversations taking place during you and Jamack’s travels with the Theotters.

Head down

Head up

Arms up

Then down

Back up higher this time

Now thumbs to self

Point down..

Across crank....

Shoulder, shoulder, shoulder...

Jazz hands

...spin?

“No, no, _**NO!**_ ”

Everyone comes to a stop and you cringe as the entire group let’s out a resounding sigh... again.

Puck approaches you, paws at his chest. 

He takes a big inhale... hold... exhale.. summoning all of his patience. 

You stare down at the dirt.

“.....sorry, Puck. I’m really trying, I swear, I just-“

“Hush now, all is well..!”

or so he says, but you can hear the restraint in his voice. 

“I lost my composure but for a moment, and for that, I humbly ask your forgiveness..” 

he holds his hat over his chest and dips his head down.

“Uhh...sure.”, you mumble.

He puts his hat back on his head and quickly rights himself.

“Good, splendid, but truth be told.... I _do_ have some constructive criticism on your... _performance_.”

“Of course..” you look anywhere but his face.

“Weellll... you know of the first set of steps, yes? The ones I have been painstakingly instructing you on for a fortnight now?”

You shuffle your feet “...yeah, I’m... aware...”

He smiles, but it looks more like he’s baring his teeth.

“Yes, good to hear, however... it certainly doesn’t... appear that way.”

One of the other theotters chimes in.

“Puck, please! I know she’s the only human _and_ female of the troupe, but have mercy! Must she be our LEAD based on this alone?”

The other Theotters and even the couple of glamsters all prattle in agreement, Puck merely holding his paw over his face, utterly exasperated as they all try to speak to him at once.

You peek over at Jamack, who just offers you an awkward shrug as the troupe disputes, until finally Puck voices a decision.

“Very well!! We will deliberate...”

He turns back to you “Dear, why don’t you... take 15..?”

“Alright...uh, hope you figure it out.. good lu-“

They all snap their heads in your direction, aghast.

Puck flails his paws out in front of him in a panic _ **“UP-BUP-BUP!!...”**_

“Uh...oh. I mean... break a leg?”

They stare at you dismissively until you turn on your heel and walk briskly to the truck in  _ shame . _

Jamack watches you go, his hands in his pockets. 

He taps his foot fretfully.

Scratches his cheek.

Fidgets with his tie...

Before finally resigning himself and trudging after you.

You go inside the truck, closing the back hatch behind you, and begin to squeeze your way through the piles of props and set decor.  


Towards the front of the truck, it opens up to reveal a few lopsided, makeshift, triple tiered bunk beds and some weathered old camping cots.  
Your cot is pressed up in the corner.

You shuffle over to it and plop yourself down, ready to engage in some good ol’ fashion self loathing.

But then Jamack comes in moments later looking as uncomfortable as you’ve ever seen him and you suddenly want to just..... 

_turn invisible._

He squeezes through the jungle of props, (nearly tripping on some stray costumes) and makes a show of _very casually_ hanging around his own cot across from yours.  
Hanging up his suit jacket.. loosening his tie... unbuttoning the first couple buttons of his shirt.. 

getting comfortable.

But you know he’s really just stalling.

He takes a tentative seat next to you and you sit quietly, waiting for the worst.

Finally, he breaks the silence. 

“....You  _ suck _ at this.”

_**“I KNOOOW!”**_ You whine loudly and hold your face in your hands.

He rubs the back of his head awkwardly and tries not to chuckle.

“Some people just..... aren’t cut out for some things.”

You groan dramatically.

He folds his arms across his chest thoughtfully with a strained look on his face, clearly trying his best to summon all of his emotional abilities.

“... I know it may be hard to believe, but there are things  _ I’m _ not so good at.”

_ “ Nooooooo, really?” _ you say with every ounce of sarcasm in your body.

He frowns and narrows his eyes at you.

...you look away.

“...Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I’m just upset... I’m... I’m sure you’re bad at things...”

He rolls his eyes and considers the benefits of going back out the way he came in... but apparently decides against it.

Instead, he let’s out a long exhale and tries to continue the conversation.

“...back when I was with my old pack, combat ability was important. I mean.. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the mod frogs are- uh- _were._. the biggest pack in las vistas!  
And I was pretty high in the ranks... had my own private office even, nice little spot over by-“

You let yourself fall backwards on your cot in annoyance.

“Thank you, Jamack. This is really helping.”

He wavers, mentally scolding himself.

“eh- no, sorry sorry, I got sidetracked. But the point is, a lot of other packs wanted what we had. And we weren’t too keen on sharing.. so knowing your way around a fight was necessary.”

He pauses to scoot back, further onto your cot until his back hits the wall of the truck, leaning against it with a satisfied sigh.

Then he continues.

“But when I came of age and it was time to train up... they gave me a bat. Which is a pretty standard beginner’s weapon. I mean, you just swing it, right?

But something about it didn’t sit right with me. I just... couldn’t get the feel for it. 

So I tried a flail, a katana.. even a _gun!_ ” 

He laughs merrily as he reminisces. 

“I was a terrible shot.. Poor Harris.” 

He sighs wistfully with a smile on his face, lost in nostalgia, as if he’s remembering a fond family get together and not... a history of gang violence.

You can’t help but drop the frown in favor of a quizzical smirk. 

You’re glad he can’t see your face.

You hesitantly sit up and scoot back to also lean against the side of the truck beside him.

“Yeah, whatever, so you can relate. That’s what you’re saying?”

He snaps out of his haze and looks at you. 

“Oh, not really. That’s not where I was going with it. Turns out weapons just weren’t my thing. I like to take a more...”

You can tell he’s choosing his words tactfully.

“.. _hands on approach_... and yes, it may be unconventional, but.. you better believe I was the best unarmed fighter out of any of them. No one stood a chance, honestly. Whether they were armed or not.”

You huff. “That’s great, Jamack, real happy for you. But I just..”

You take a deep breath.

“This production is really important... you know? We need it to... connect. Change hearts and minds.

Because if it doesn’t, Kipo is going to have an even harder time than she already does, you know? And if it sucks, it’ll be MY fault, and honestly if I didn’t already know her and I saw her being portrayed by ME in this terrible play, I’d probably be _less_ likely to side with her, not _more_ and-“

You’re rambling. Jamack is used to you rambling by now.

He snaps one finger up in front of your face with a “SHH.” and you compliantly hold that thought.

..You’re used to him being used to it.

With that, he leans to the side with a groan and extends his arm under the side of your bed, fishing out your bag.

And then, with _absolutely no regard for personal property or privacy_ , starts rummaging around inside.

You’re immediately up on your knees in a wide eyes panic. 

“What the **HELL** , _don’t_ -!”

He pulls out your sketchbook and promptly opens it, flipping through pages.

“ _ **WOAH NO AAAAAA STOOOPPPP**_ ”, you screech, completely undignified.

You lunge for the sketchbook but he deftly twists away from you, putting his back between you and it.  
You bat around his shoulders in vain, but It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

“Here.”

He turns the sketchbook towards you and you flush.

It’s a full two page spread of life drawings... of _him._

“I! Um! Wait a minute..! How... did you..”

He flashes an impudent little grin.

“You’re not _nearly_ as sneaky as you think you are. You really should work on that..”

He gestures back to the book with an open palm.

“But that’s besides the point. Look at this.”

You glance back to the pages sheepishly.

There’s drawings of him in various poses, sitting by the fire, leaning against the truck, standing with his back to you..

He brings the pages closer to his face to better scrutinize it.

“I only got a glimpse of it at the time but.. the likeness is uncanny.

I mean, the attention to detail is impressive. Even got all the folds of my suit..”

You’re pretty sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, your whole head would have the shade of a cherry tomato.

You take advantage of his distracted state to reach over his shoulder and snatch your sketchbook back.

You shove it back in your bag angrily and hiss

“ _ Boundaries... ” _

He shrugs indifferently. 

“You’re not good at dancing. Or acting. And I’m...

borderline offended that you made me listen to your caterwauling with my own two tympanum..”

You scowl at him.

“ **BUT**! there’s a but...!” he clears his throat

“you’re really good at other things. Like that... doodle book of yours. Not many people can do that.”

You let that sink in. Maybe he’s right..?

He continues.

“So take advantage of that! 

Find a way to use your unique skillset to your advantage! Use what others _don’t_ have in order to surpass your peers and subjugate your enemies. It’s business 101 really.”

He smiles reassuringly at you and you honestly can’t tell if he’s joking....

But you suspect he’s not.

“Th...thanks..?”

“You’re welcome!” 

He scoots forward off the bed and rolls his shoulders as he stands, obviously proud of himself for what he considers a job well done.

You stare up at the ceiling and think about it.

This production is really important.. and you want to help create it, but...

There’s no way you can play Kipo. You’re a complete wreck on stage.

...But maybe... maybe that theotter from before had a point. 

Maybe you don’t have to be on stage..

“Hey, Jamack..”

“Hm?”

“...what do you think of the costumes and set design..?”

He catches on immediately and gives you a scheming smile.

“It’s alright... but I think I know someone who could do it better...”

* * *

“Would you say I’m driving you....”

You were truly teetering on the razor’s edge. 

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know about the precariousness of your situation.

One wrong word.... and the consequences would surely be dire.

But..

Consequences never did do a very good job of deterring you from bad decision making.

You take a deep breath.

“...... _hopping_ mad?”

Jamack’s face crumples into an expression of pure indignation.

“ **STOP**. I’m NOT going to tell you again.”

“Tell me what?”

He glares at you silently. Practically daring you to continue.

“What’s wrong, Jamack......... _frog in your throat_?”

He makes a furious gasp, completely aghast.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“FIRST OF ALL” he begins, hands on his hips, with a tone that reminds you of an angry school teacher reprimanding a child.

“THAT’S.... _ **D I S G U S T I N G**_... you... _pervert_...!”

Your laugh becomes a breathless wheeze.

“SECOND.... How would you feel if I was making... infantile... tasteless... human jokes?!”

You catch your breath to genuinely consider this. “Oh..... well when you put it that way...” 

He crosses his arms, sure that he has successfully convinced you.

“...I’d _toadally_ love that.” You look up at him with a devious smile.

“Well, I don-...”

You see the gears moving in his head. Your smile turns into a full blown shit eating grin.

_“Was that... another one..?”_

He glowers at you and his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You may have gone too far.

You press your lips together in a pathetic attempt at masking the incriminating grin on your face.

“...... _nooo?_ ”

He puts his hands in his pockets with a venomous little chuckle.

Then he takes an aggressive step forward, right into your personal space, forcing you to lean backwards to avoid contact.  
You can feel his breath on your face as he leans over you with an unreadable expression.

When he speaks, his tone is... unsettlingly calm.

“I’m sorry.... I overreacted.”

You gape at him.

“Oh uh....it’s fin-“

He cuts you off.

“No, no, you were right. It’s just a joke. I was the one being unreasonable.”

...something is definitely not right here. 

You nervously lick your dry lips.

“....o...okay?”

A malicious grin splits across his features and your blood runs cold.

You can feel the intimidating rumble in his chest when he speaks

“I hope  _hu-man_ age to forgive me...”

Your brain comes to a complete standstill.

His smile widens as you stare at him slack jawed.

“ _Did you just..._ ”

“How’s it taste?”

“I....what?”

**_“Your own medicine_**.”

He leans away from you now, arms crossed.

He looks like the cat that got the canary. As if he just dealt his opponent a killing blow, rather than... told a bad joke.

You squint your eyes at him.

“....this suddenly feels kinda racist.”

Jamack suddenly barks out laughter.

“Oh! So now it’s a problem!”

You put your hands on your hips and smile at him..

“Yeah okay... I’ll admit, it feels weird hearing a.. human pun? I think that’s a first for me.”

Jamack’s laughs die down to a light hearted chortle.

“So you’re going to stop. Right? Because I honestly can’t take it anymore.”

You hold your hand out to him.

He let’s out a sigh of relief, reaching forward to grip your hand in a handshake.

But right before his hand connects, you mutter

“It’s like I always say.. _frogive_ and _froget_.”

He slaps your extended hand. **Hard**. 

You hold your stinging hand and prance away from him, giggling as he lunges for you. 

You struggle to speak through your laughter, in a desperate attempt to pacify him.

“ ** _LAST ONE! THAT WAS IT! I SWEAR!”_**

You did keep your promise after that.

But he still gave you the silent treatment for days.

* * *

Jamack popped his forefinger in his mouth and sucked on it.

It was unpleasantly salty... and then metallic.  
  


The theotters always seemed to favor setting up camp by a body of water, if able.  
Which is a sentiment he can certainly relate to, but he really wished it didn’t have to be... salt water.

Not because he preferred fresh water necessarily... _although he definitely did_. 

Rather, the real reason was because every time they camped by the shore, all the otters would dart excitedly into the foamy surf and come back with dinner..

And sometimes, 

far too often for his liking,

It just so happened to coincide with the day of the week that he was responsible for making the evening meal.

Like tonight for example.

And he hates...

_**Hates.**_..

Cleaning shellfish...

He pulls his finger out of his mouth and inspects the small cut there. It still stings from the ocean salt, but his saliva has eased it somewhat at least.

He turns his hand over to idly count the other little paper thin microcuts on his fingertips. 

As much as he hates shucking these oysters however, tonight it’s more of a welcome distraction. 

He’s having one of _those days._.

And anything is preferable to the intrusive thoughts knocking at the back of his skull.

Thoughts about.. home.

And his... old _friends_.

Both words were a stretch, he knew it. 

But it had always been the closest thing he had to it.

And even though he’s in a better place now, and can often look back on those days fondly, it somehow doesn’t ease the occasional lament for what maybe _could_ have been.

Maybe he could have had what he has now, but.. with them. If he had tried.

_Maybe they’d still be alive_.

_** SHLUCK ** _

He forces the oyster apart with a little too much force, nicking himself yet again on a sharp piece of shell.

It snaps him back to reality, and he’s almost grateful.

He pops the new injury into his mouth like the last one and hears the crunch of shifting gravel as you adjust your sitting position.

He almost forgot you were there.  
You had been seated cross legged on a ratty pillow somewhere behind him for what.. 20 minutes now?

You had initially come over, cushion under one arm, to offer a helping hand with the oysters.

He appreciated it, really. 

...But instead of thanking you, he had chosen instead to chastise you for being no good at it. 

Which.... was true.

But honestly he just.. wanted the busy work all to himself. 

No, he needed it. 

That, and he didn’t want to subject you to his current mood. Any more than he already had.

But to his surprise, instead of leaving, you had shrugged your shoulders and sat down behind him anyways. He assumed you were doodling again.

Although... now that he thinks about it..

He didn’t hear the scratchy sound of pencil on paper.

Or the soothing little humming sounds you typically make when you draw.

Only... silence.

A chill runs down his spine.

_ Oh No.. _

This is how it always started.

Jamack minding his own business, doing some mundane task...

And you seated nearby.... in _eerie silence._

Not your usual sleepy silence.

Or angry silence.

Or that silence you do when you’ve done something to embarrass yourself hours prior and now you’re overthinking it like an idiot.

This is a.. creepy silence. 

So quiet, it’s like you’ve forgotten to breathe.

He risks a glance in your direction to see your vacant expression directed at him.

Or rather, _through_ him.

He’s sure it was directed at him originally, but you’ve since zoned out entirely, totally lost to whatever... unsettling thought has tangled itself around your brain this time.

He’s gotten used to this behavior by now and has come to recognize the signs.

He curses his luck. This really isn’t the kind of distraction he needed, and while it’s usually harmless... annoying, but harmless...

He’s not sure he can take it right now.

He can almost feel the pressure in the air as the question manifests, building up inside you, threatening to bubble over.

And he just knows it’s going to be **_fucking invasive._**

“...Can I see your tongue?”

Jamack grimaces. It’s tiring being right all the time.

“....Why?”

“I just wanna see it.. the inside of your mouth too.”

You ask as if you’re asking him to pass the salt. 

You look at him expectantly and he immediately feels irritated.

“No. You’re being weird again.”

“But it’s interesting!”, You whine.

“Your tongue is more like a chameleon’s than a frog’s... frogs in my time didn’t actually have long tongues like yours, you know.”

Jamack narrows his eyes, but doesn’t answer right away.

He knows what will happen if he does, and he really isn’t in the mood to encourage you today. But... it’s such a stupid claim that he can’t help himself.  
He resigns himself to your bullshit.

“...yes they did.”

“Nuh uh! Common misconception. They had much shorter, flat tongues, but they were like....backwards..” Your eyes are practically sparkling already.

He covers his eyes with both hands for a moment, collecting himself. Then he slowly drags his palms down the length of his face with an extended groan of annoyance.

“I’m a frog. I would know. We’ve been over this. So...so many times..”

Your voice picks up volume. He wishes it wouldn’t.

“But you’re a mute frog! Obviously there are biological differences... _like your tongue for example._ ”

His voice picks up volume in turn. “No! You’re wrong. **_EVERY_** frog picture, book, toy, painting, sculpture, or... _anything_ I have ever found from your time, shows frogs with tongues _exactly_ like mine.”

You flash a grin halfway between excitement and displeasure. “No, I know! Like I said, it’s a common misconception!”

He reaches one hand up and massages the spot above his nose.

He really can’t do this right now. Not today. 

_“Are you seriously implying_...” he starts, with an angry breathiness.

“...that frogs had some other kind of... _ridiculous_ backwards tongue... and **every** depiction of frogs got the tongue _entirely_ wrong-“

You cut him off “YES! it’s-“

He continues, louder this time, interrupting you in turn. “ **AND**!....not only that, but by _PURE COINCEDENCE_ , when frogs mutated, they gained an entirely new kind of tongue.... _THE SAME_ tongue that had been _INCORRECTLY_ attributed to frogs.... throughout all of human society...”

“YES, that’s why it’s so interes-“

He places his elbows on his knees and just lays his face in his palms now.

“That is the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Your stupid grin only seems to widen. “NO, You’re not listening, I-“

“I don’t _want_ to listen!” It comes out louder and harsher than he intended. 

“I don’t want to know. I don’t care about your stupid “fun facts”! Here’s a fun fact: your facts aren’t fun. They’re **_irritating_**.”

...Shit.

He watches your excitement dissipate instantly, replaced by hurt. 

_ Hurt that he caused. _

You try to act cool, but he can hear the sadness and concern in your voice. 

“Yeesh...what is up with you...?”

His face heats up with shame. He flounders, unsure how to backtrack. 

“I told you! You’re... giving me a headache, that’s all.”

You put your hands on your hips.

“No... you can be pretty sarcastic and snippy, which is fun and all, but right now...? you’re being mean. Does this tongue thing really bother you that much?”

He tries to avoid eye contact. “..Yes. No... I don’t know....” He takes a deep breath. 

Silence hovers over the two of you, tense and unpleasant.

“Yeah, okay... Sorry. It’s not you... It’s me.”

You let out an amused scoff.

“Wow. Wish I had a nickel for every time a guy has told me that one...”

Jamack chuckles dryly, but says nothing. He feels like an idiot.

You cautiously approach, sitting next to him on the rocks overlooking the beach. He flinches when your thigh touches his, but he doesn’t ask you to move.

“What’s uh... what’s up? Did something happen?” You sound so unsure. 

He hates that he makes you feel like that.

He deflates, mentally throwing in the towel and preparing himself for the conversation he had been so adamantly avoiding.

Whatever. It’s too late now.

“No, nothing happened. or.. It did. But nothing new.”

“ _ **Ah..**_ ” 

He can tell by your tone, you already understand.

It’s been a couple months, but... you were there when it happened.

When the troupe had reunited with Kipo and her friends in timbercat village, a few days before Kipo proposed the play idea to the theotters.

It was the first time either of them had seen those kids since the scuffle at Brunchington Beach.

Jamack remembers the initial excitement in Kipo’s eyes when they locked with his.

That unique, _Kipo_ brand elation.

...And then he watched it melt away into something that made his stomach churn.

He knew she had realized something, and he could tell he wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

She broke the news to him in her signature Kipo way. 

With as much tact and consideration and.. emotional gobbledygook as she could muster.

And he had responded how he always did to bad news.

With a false apathy, carefully crafted over a _lifetime_.

And it had worked. Mostly.

But it’s harder to fake apathy with the people you live with.

And in the subsequent days and weeks, he knew you had noticed.

Or.. overheard. At least once.

No matter how stealthy he tried to be, there’s only so much you can do in close quarters.

He assumes you never brought it up for his sake.

But there’s no avoiding it now.

He willfully forces himself to open his mouth again before he loses his nerve.

“I never saw them or anything. I mean... afterwards.”

You give him a perplexed look and he continues.

“She uh... told me what happened to them. Sort of? 

I think she left some things out but... I _know_ that they’re gone.

You know how Kipo is, she wouldn’t lie to me. I don’t think she even knows how to lie.”

He smiles and shrugs his shoulders a little at the thought. 

But then his casual demeanor fades and his voice gets softer.

“I never saw them.. And I couldn’t even if I wanted to. There’s not even really a uh... grave. Or...” 

he shakes his head and let’s out a long exhale. You can see his eyes wandering, considering how to word the next part.

“.....it feels like they’re still _alive_. Like they’re just out there somewhere, and I haven’t seen them in a while. Except it’s... not a good feeling? And I don’t know what to uh.. do... about that.”

He clears his throat awkwardly and waits for you to say something.

But as the silence grows longer and longer, it becomes abundantly clear that neither of you knows how to proceed.

Finally, you speak up.

“So uh..... this.... is another one of those things I’m bad at.”

He’s

not sure what to do with that. 

But he’s also not sure what he really expected to get out of this.

He’s ready to just call this sad attempt at emotional closure a failure and end the conversation as tactfully as he can.

But then to his surprise, you continue.

“I want to make you feel better, though! I just uh...”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat.

“Don’t know how I can help when it’s... _unfixable._ There’s no solution, no answer I can give you.. I can’t fix it, you know what I mean? Nothing can... We can’t change what happened, and _lord knows_ , I understand the uh... feeling.”

His eyes widen a little.

  
**_Of course you do._ **

He can’t believe he hadn’t realized it sooner... 

He mentally kicks himself as you continue.

“But if there’s anything I can do to.. distract you? If you need a distraction, I can do that. But... maybe not with wildlife fun facts.. ha ha...”

And somehow, that’s all it takes.

Jamack can feel the emotional pressure release... like air through a pinhole. 

It’s not...entirely gone, but something about what you just said.. 

It was all he needed to hear.

Just letting you _know_ that he was hurting..

Knowing that you can relate, that he isn’t the only one to feel this way.

And most of all, hearing that you wished you could help..... _did_. 

It _did_ help. It was enough. Somehow?

And then you go and catch him off guard.

A weight settles on him from the side and the ghost of a touch can be felt on his back and chest.

You’re hugging him... In a way.

Or some kind of attempt at a sideways version of it.

his breath hitches and his muscles go taut and he can feel you tense up in response.

You lean some of your weight back off of him.

“Sorry, shit, do you want me to uh...”

“No, no, it’s...”

He shifts his weight back and forth in his seat a bit, as if trying to lightly shake off his nerves.

“I mean, it’s unnecessary. You don’t have to, I feel fine now.” 

He gently pulls your hand down from his chest, and you move your arms back to your sides.

“Besides, I probably smell like... low tide.” He makes an exasperated gesture to the bucket of remaining oysters.

You can’t help but snort in response and tease him a little.

“Oh, yeah, you definitely do.”

He grumbles, too emotionally exhausted to do much else.

You reach over between his legs and pull the bucket handle, scooching the oysters over to you and between your own legs.

“Let me do the rest. I think you and your hands have suffered enough..” You chuckle as you pick up the oyster he was working on last.

He accepts the offer this time, but never makes a move to leave. 

Instead, he just sits there with you. 

watching the moonlight dance on the ocean’s surface, 

listening to you quietly hiss and curse with every oyster you shuck, 

and feeling more content than he has in a long time.

  
  


* * *

  
  


You teeter a bit as he grips your ankle, dragging your foot back.

His hand gently presses against your lower back, straightening your posture.

He lifts your arms up by the forearms and you reflectively clench your hands into fists.

He stands back to check his handiwork while mimicking your pose himself.

“Yeah. Right about there.”

You make a self conscious expression at him and he smirks in response.

“You’re not used to it yet. But you’ll get there.”

You sigh

“...do I really have to do this?”

He frowns and breaks his stance.

“You know, a lot of people would consider themselves _lucky_ to be tutored by me in unarmed fighting.

I told you I was the best, didn’t I?”

You give him a divisive smile.

“You may have mentioned it once...or twice.”

He ignores your sarcasm and circles you idly, checking your stance again while he speaks. 

“Yesterday should have been a wake up call. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve survived up until now, given your incredible talent for being nearly eaten by every mega within a mile radius..”

He taps the side of your foot with his boots, nudging it inward a bit.

You grumble and release your stance.

Jamack opens his mouth to protest but you cut him off. 

“That wasn’t my fault! I took... every precaution!”

That was a lie.

You knew that was a lie. 

When you saw that beautiful mega mantis, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards it.

You swear you practically went into a fugue state and when you came to, you were basically _under_ it, scribbling in your sketchbook like a person possessed.

It didn’t take long for it to notice you. After all, your brilliant cover was one of those... geodesic jungle gym domes in an old playground.

And then, on top of that, Jamack had watched in **_horror_** from a nearby water tower as you waited a _full minute_ as it chewed through the bars... because you wanted that closeup look at it’s mandibles.

He finally stepped in, having to act as a belligerent decoy and.. you do feel guilty about that.

It was stupid. And reckless. You admit it. 

But you really don’t see the need for fighting lessons.

It should be good enough that you just.. stop being an idiot, right?

Jamack knows you’re lying to get out of this.

He crosses his arms and frowns at you.

“You’re just trying to get out of this.”

See? You hate that he can read you so well. When did that happen?

One look at his disapproving stare and you know there’s no getting out of this.

You begrudgingly get back into fighting stance.

Jamack smiles victoriously and takes his place in front of you, fists at the ready.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

You scoff.

“That’s it? _Go ahead?_ ”

“I can’t exactly teach you until I know what I’m working with. So...”

He grins almost excitedly.

“..Show me what I’m working with. Give it your best shot!”

You make an uncomfortable sound and lift your fists in front of your face, ready to... 

... _punch Jamack_. Sure.

You’ve thought about it enough times before. Now’s your chance to do it.

_.......Noooo problem........_

You hop back and forth on your feet a little like you’ve seen boxers do in the movies.  
This feels... correct. You think you’re doing something right. Probably.

But Jamack’s utter look of amusement has you second guessing.

You decide to just go for it. Bite the bullet.

You jump forward and swing with your left.

Jamack easily dodges by leaning backwards out of the way of your swing. 

He didn’t even have to move his feet.

You grimace and try your right. 

He doesn’t even bother dodging this time, choosing instead to block with his left forearm. 

You’re a little annoyed now...

You swipe at his ankles with your right foot and he frog hops over your leg with ease.

Okay, now he’s just showboating to piss you off.

In frustration, you try your right again, trying to pop your fist forward with as much force as possible.

This time, Jamack moves his hand to take your blow to his open palm.

Your fist makes contact with his open hand and you yelp, retracting your arm and quickly curling your hand to your chest.

Jamack wastes no time dropping his stance and coming to your side.

“What happened, you hurt?”

You suck in through your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut as you shake your limp wrist. It makes a crinkling sound and Jamack cringes.

You’re quick to reassure him, however.

“I’m okay.. l just have weak wrists. Sometimes they like... get twisted? Dislocate?  
I don’t actually know what it is they are doing, but it hurts like hell. A good shake usually snaps it back in place, though.”

He seems taken aback by this information.

“Is that a human thing?”

“Oh. No, it’s a me thing.”, you reply.

“It’s good now, doesn’t hurt. Just a bit sore.”

You shake your hand at him to prove your point.

Jamack goes quiet for a moment. He seems to be thinking about something.

“Hey uh... no offense but.... Why’d they pick you?”

The question seems to come out of nowhere, and the lack of context confuses you.

“What are you talking about?”

He holds his hand out in silent request for yours.

You hesitate, then oblige. You know he just wants to check it for himself.

He inspects your wrist as he speaks.

“You’ve briefly mentioned it before. How you were chosen by the human Alphas or whatever... to be frozen. That whole thing.”

“And you want to know why I was picked...?”

He looks almost sheepish as he rolls your wrist around gently.

“Yeah, I mean no offense but..... you’re not a very good survivor. And you don’t seem to have many.... _practical_ skills..? Why you? Out of all the humans, there had to be those a little more...qualified.”

You give him a cold, tight lipped smile.

“....offense taken.”

He lets go of your hand now, and groans.

“Look, I’m not complaining. I mean I....”

He glances at your face and chooses his words carefully.

“...would prefer if you weren’t dead.”

“Awwww.... I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me~” you tease.

He grits his teeth. You giggle and place your sore wrist on your hip.

“You really wanna know?”

“Uhhh yeah. That’s why I asked.” He replies sarcastically.

You grin and give him the truth.

“I’m immune.”

His interest is officially piqued.

“...immune to what?”

“A few things, actually. Nothing major like cancer, but... some more common illnesses.”

Jamack seems almost impressed.

“And they figured that made you more likely to survive?”

You laugh and shake your head.

“Oh! No. You misunderstand. They figured it made everyone _else_ more likely to survive.”

He looks intrigued. Confused, but intrigued.

You explain.

“My blood can be used to make vaccines. And my blood type also happens to be O negative.. which means I can like... give my blood to anyone. Universal donor.”

Jamack frowns and crosses his arms.

“Wait. So their plan was to freeze you to.... _harvest your blood_?”

“Bingo.” You finger gun in his direction. “I mean, it sounds a lot more macabre when you word it that way but.. yeah, basically. I’m like a walking pharmacy. I used to sell my awesome blood a lot even before any end-of-the-world stuff was going on.”

Jamack seems to be in some kind of... morbid awe.

“That’s uh...... huh.... Well, I guess it played in your favor. You’re here, after all.”

You scoff.

“Yeah, and you know who isn’t here?”

You give a dark humored chuckle.

“ _The entire rest of the team_. The _**highly trained and carefully selected group of survivors**_ I was supposed to be a resource for.”

You hold your arms out in front of you in a gesture of disbelief.

“AND!! Those illnesses I was meant to immunize against? Might not even EXIST anymore! For all I know, they died out alongside the vast majority of the human population! Who knows!”

You laugh again.

Jamack chuckles with you.

“That.... is kind of funny.” He admits.

“I know! The universe has a super twisted sense of humor..”

You roll your wrist experimentally.

“Oh. My wrist feels better.... do you uh... want to try that again?”

Jamack grins and immediately gets back into his fighting stance.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You take a deep breath... you can do this.

You lift your fists up in front of your face and think.

Maybe... if you try kicking a little higher, you can throw him off balance?

You launch your foot outwards towards his waist.

He deftly dodges yet again, but it seemed a little less easy for him that time.

“Good!” He exclaims. “Keep going!”

You swing with your left, he blocks with his right.

You quickly switch to your right, faster than he expected, and he ducks, narrowly avoiding this time.

He continues to voice little words of encouragement or critique as you punch and kick the air all around him.  
With every miss, you get just a little more frustrated, and your movements a little more wild and unrestrained.

You’re already getting tired. You’re panting and sweaty.

Meanwhile, he looks the same as he did when you started..

You growl in annoyance and try to just.. tackle him. 

But he grabs your head and literally leap frogs over you, causing you to stumble into the dirt, ass up.

You swear you hear him snicker under his heavy breath.

Oh that does it.

You get back on your feet and lunge at him, swinging wildly.

Jamack notices the decrease in coordination and tactics.

“Focus! You’re doing better, but you can’t let yourself lose focu-“

You swing at his left cheek while he’s mid sentence and it catches him off guard just enough to delay his response. 

He raises his forearm to block in time.....

Only for you to fake him out and slap him hard across his right cheek.

**_ YES!!!!!!!.... _ **

...Oh.

_Oh oops! Oh **fuck!**_

You gasp and hold both hands up to cover your mouth in shock.

He seems completely bewildered as he holds one hand over the bright red handprint on his cheek.

“Oh my god! Jamack! I’m _so sorry_ I was so focused on hitting you I just-“

you ramble, completely flustered, hands still covering half of your face.

A smile slowly spreads across his features and suddenly he looks almost.. proud.

“No! No, you did good.” He hisses as he rubs the spot. “You put a lot of power behind that one... and I wasn’t expecting you to try fake outs so fast. That’s promising!”

He resumes his stance.

“Now try it again, but.... use your fist this time..”

The next morning, you’re both too sore to get out of your cots.

Puck gives the two of you an earful, but regardless, Jamack can’t seem to stop smiling.

* * *

You’re not sure what just happened. 

You’ve known for a while now that everyone you knew was gone. 

I mean, they had to be. It’s been over 200 years.

And you thought you had come to terms with it?

But today Puck announced that the first performance of the completed play would be in one week, and..

It makes no sense but..

The first thought that popped into your head was

_ “I should invite mom”... _

and suddenly,

in a flash, it all hit you at once. 

As if, all this time, what you thought was coping, was really only sandbags stacked against the dark rising waters of grief.

Sandbags made out of a change of topic..

Distractions here and there..

Denial.

And now, finally, the flood has broken through the shoddy barricade, and you’re plunged in it, all of it. 

You’re tossed about like a rag doll, completely at the whim of your emotions, struggling and.. 

you... 

you _can’t-_

“ **Breathe**. Come’ on!”

You can feel his hands at your shoulders. Shaking you firmly. 

He had run after you. _Of fucking course he did._

You stare down at your knees in the mud and try to catch your breath, but it’s like your body wants to cry, and scream, and hyperventilate, and cough, and laugh and hiccup and it can’t decide which one to focus on first. 

“Hey. _Hey!_ Look at me. What the hell happened?! Are you hurt?”

A cool and clammy hand lands against your cheek and pulls your head up to meet his eyes. The look on his face captures your attention immediately. 

You’ve seen him lose his cool before, plenty of times.

But you’ve never seen him look so.. lost.

Your body finally prioritizes. 

A strangled sob shakes through you, and his knee jerk reaction is to recoil backwards.

Unsure how to proceed, but desperate to help somehow, he looks you over frantically, opening and closing his hands in mid air, hovering over you. 

He immediately thinks back to that night on the rocks. When you tried your best for _him_ .

This time is so much different, but...

He places his hands back on your shoulders again, this time pulling you towards him. Very slowly... 

This is uncharted territory for him.

He’s not sure if this is the right thing to do in this situation, and he wants to give you time to refuse if this isn’t what you need. 

But it turns out to be unnecessary. 

The second he applies pressure to pull you forward, you close the distance, clinging to him like a child, hands clenched white knuckled around his lapels, burrowing your face in his chest to muffle the terrible sounds pouring out of you. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and wastes no time reciprocating, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you, far too softly, as if he’s scared he’ll break you.

You can feel him shivering against you slightly.

“I uh.. I don’t..”

His voice comes out hardly more than a whisper. He swallows thickly and tries again.

“..I don’t know what’s going on.”

Another sob takes you and he pats you on the back awkwardly.

“Shhhh shshsh.... there there..? Yeesh...”

The weight of his arms leaves your back, replaced instead by the sensation of his hands over your ears. 

The sound of your own weeping suddenly sounds distant, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your head.

Something about it is strangely soothing. 

Your face buried in the dark of his suit jacket. 

Sound muffled by his hands. 

You feel safe. 

Cocooned. 

You listen to your heartbeat slowly recede from a thunderous drumbeat to a softer, rhythmic thumping. 

Jamack’s fingers lightly grip against the back of your ears while his thumbs move back and forth along their top ridge. 

Then he stills his thumbs, and instead, starts to rub behind your ears with his remaining fingers, occasionally brushing against your hairline.

Your shoulders sag and your head starts to lull back as he drifts down to your ear lobes, pinching them between his thumb and forefinger and massaging them in deliberate circular motions.

It’s only now that the absurdity of the act snaps you to your senses.

You open your eyes, catching his expression in a moment of intense focus before he notices your gaze and his features soften.

You open your mouth to speak, the hoarseness of your voice surprising the both of you.

“ _.......what are you doing?_ ”

He tilts his head in a silent request for elaboration.

“The.. ear thing. The weird ear thing, what is that?..”

He seems to only now realize that he’s still doing it, and retracts his hands in an embarrassed fluster.

“I uh... I’ve heard that mammals do that. Or they like it, anyways.. Touching the ears is relaxing or something for you, right?”

Your brain feels like it’s full of cotton, making it difficult to form your thoughts. 

You gape at him for a nearly uncomfortable amount of time before you finally respond in an incredulous whisper.

“Wait wait.. are you talking about like... scratching a cat or dog or something behind the ears?”

“Yeah, that. Exactly.”

You stare at him completely dumbfounded as a weak chuckle rises in your throat and you swear he looks almost offended.

He crosses his arms and as he is usually so quick to do, defends himself. 

“Well it _worked_ , didn’t it?”

This sends you into an absolute fit of giggles.

You’ve never seen anyone look so angry and relieved at the same time.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a lot more written, but decided to split it up into even more chapters lmao...  
> So you guys can at least read half of it now!
> 
> The next part will be “Timbercat Village” and will include things that happen during hmufa, Emilia stuff, etc.
> 
> Oh and as usual, here is my tumblr. I draw Kipo stuff a lot (but especially jamack)....
> 
> https://cattywh0mpus.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Part 2 coming soon including:  
> Theotters, A daring rescue, drunk adventures in timbercat village, a sunset swim, Prahm, and more..???
> 
> ps I have a tumblr and I draw lots of jamack and other fandom art:
> 
> https://cattywh0mpus.tumblr.com/


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